


Yes, Minister

by morred



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Emma pwns all, Gen, I call him Peter Man-yum, I have a mask of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morred/pseuds/morred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Mannion takes up his position as Minister for DoSAC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Minister

**Author's Note:**

> As well as the usual swearing, there is some fairly appalling misogyny expressed throughout.

'Now we're all clear on the strategy,' Mannion says, glancing uneasily at Emma and Phil. Not quite the troops he would have chosen: one's biddable and almost embarrassingly eager to please and the other's intelligent, but sadly the attributes never seem to overlap. ‘I’m not to be left alone with her at any point.’

Emma happens to think this isn’t an entirely viable strategy, but she doesn’t much care. Keeping Peter Mannion safe from the clutches of Terri Coverley is low on her agenda right now. She’s about to enter government for the first time and she intends to make her mark. ‘And we’re not to leave Smythson-Jones alone either.’

‘Tom’s a valued coalition partner who is to be treated as a valuable and necessary - albeit  junior \- member of the DoSAC team,’ Mannion bullshits smoothly. ‘And he  is one of the more trustworthy new MPs, which why he’s been honoured with the position of Junior Minister in DoSAC.’

‘Well of course he is,’ Phil chips in. ‘He went to school with JB-PM,’ Emma hides her wince. The new acronym had been adopted with sickening and inevitable swiftness by the policy wonks and arselickers. The official rumour, as “leaked” by Stewart Pearson and the Fucker, was that JB disliked the ostentatious, cheerleading victory chant of it and thought it would be better to assume some humility. The unofficial rumour, spread by everyone who’d ever  met JB, was that he ejaculated in his exquisitely tailored trousers every time he heard it. ‘It’s a simple rule,’ he continued, directing his condescension at Emma, ‘but I can draw you a chart if you need one. If they’ve been to a decent school or have got a decent name, they’re probably safe. The poor fuckers are just on the wrong side because their parents are actors or Guardian-readers and they don’t want to disappoint them. Any hint of sandals, beards or real ale and they’re dangerous nutters.’

‘I like a real ale myself,’ Mannion puts in. ‘Nothing wrong with that. Though I expect a memo any day from Stewart telling me what I’m supposed to like to drink. Can you believe he’s started tweeting us all every Monday with the price of a pint of milk?  Tweeting . I can’t believe I even  said it. I’m not sure I know what it  is . I mean, I know we’re pro-milk, ever since the milk-snatcher incident-’

‘Sounds like some nasty sort of infection,’ Phil smirks, then shakes his head as the others look at him blankly. ‘Milk, snatch,  infection , come  on . And don’t pretend you’ve never had an infection, Emma, I know where you’ve been.’

It’s  unfair Phil thinks, that someone as short as Emma can still look down her nose at him. ‘There’s no need to display your pathetic sexual jealousy  quite so obviously, Phil. I think,’ she continues, cutting Phil dead and turning to Mannion, ‘that the current line is that no one really likes to drink anyway. Very bad for you. Perhaps a thimbleful of reduced-calorie white wine on a bank holiday weekend.’ She shrugs in an unconvincing apology. ‘But as long as you don’t tell any hacks you like swan’s blood or something you’re probably safe.’

\---

‘Now remember, Robyn, although it’s important that we’re as friendly and welcoming as possible, don’t forget that I am the senior press officer and so it’s my responsibility to liaise one-on-one with Peter.’

‘With  the Minister. ’

‘Are we going to have to have a discussion about attitude, Robyn? A bit more cheerfulness, please. A bright new dawn! Of course, his advisors will doubtless be every bit as hopeless as the last lot, but at least we’ll have a proper minister in charge.’

‘Yeah,’ Robyn whines quietly. ‘It’ll be so  nice now the  proper  people are back in charge. Put us all in our place. They  are born to rule, you know. He’ll probably make me make toast.’

‘ Robyn . That’s quite enough. Peter went to a perfectly ordinary school*. Have you made sure we’ve got proper coffee? I called Peter’s campaign advisor and his constituency staff and they say he likes a cafetiere when he arrives in the morning, with a proper china cup. I wrote you a memo.’

Robyn glares from beneath her dirty blonde fringe and stumps off. At least, she thinks, she can wander around now without worrying that Glenn will appear suddenly and try to be chivalrous at her. 

(* Defined in the modern, enlightened Tory party as fee-paying but not one of the great public schools.)

-

‘Christ, there’s a banner,’ Peter Mannion mutters to Phil as he walks through the DoSAC doors.

Sure enough, strung above the open plan desks is a limp banner. It’s quite possible that Terri has painted it herself. Or, from the look of it, got some needy, disadvantaged, educationally challenged children to do it for her. (Possibly during their break from being press-ganged into one of her many musical productions). ‘Wellcome, Minister!’ it reads with insane misspelt cheeriness. 

‘Good morning, Minister!’ Terri chirrups. ‘I hope your journey in wasn’t too horrendous! And may I just say-’

‘-I, for one, welcome our new Tory overlords,’ Phil mutters to Emma, who either fails to get the reference or doesn’t want to gratify Phil by acknowledging one of his extremely rare successful attempts at humour. 

They are, as befits advisers, standing a respectful two paces behind Mannion. Phil is cultivating a stance suggesting he’s ready to thrust forward with a policy suggestion at any second, or dive in front of his Minister to fend off lunatics, members of the public, journalists, dogs, small children, and Terri Coverley. Emma’s eyes sweep round the offices carefully, assessing. She smiles politely at Robyn, identifying her as a non-Terri presence. She has the hangdog look of someone technically quite senior, who finds themselves chief tea-maker. She ticks off the other personnel desk by desk: IT1 and IT2, researcher, data geek, temp, data-entry, time-server, researcher. She smiles and nods at all of them, making eye contact. You never know when you’ll need these people. 

‘Good morning, er, Terri,’ Peter says and - ingrained manners overcoming personal distaste - extends a hand. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘And you, Minister!’ Terri seizes his hand and leans in to kiss his cheek, blushing horribly. Phil notices a second too late (and even Phil’s sycophancy might not stretch to interposing himself between Mannion and Terri Coverley) and stands wringing his hands. Emma rolls her eyes. Peter’s had worse people kissing him. She’s met his first wife. ‘Hopefully, now we’ve got rid of those  idiots from the last administration, things should run more smoothly than on your last visit.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Peter can’t stop his eyes flickering to Terri’s computer. The screensaver’s doing nothing more than running a scrolling marquee of the Microsoft logo. Evil enough, Phil would say (Phil can be tedious to the point of inducing coma on Apple products - it was the one thing he and Olly could agree on) but Peter will take anything that’s  not a photoshop of Terri performing sex acts upon his person as an improvement. ‘And I’m sure you’re enjoying the break from Malcolm Tucker. No doubt Stewart will be along to tell you all about his later wheeze soon, but he doesn’t shout as much.’

‘And he is  actually  experienced in business, isn’t he? Not just a failed journalist covering up his inadequacies with swearing.’ Mannion notes, not for the first time, how many people are suddenly braver about rubbishing Tucker now he’s unlikely to pop up behind them. ‘But is- I heard Cal Richards?’

‘It was thought that Cal didn’t quite meet the needs of our brave collaborationist, coalitionist future of government.’ This is the current official line, but Mannion doesn’t believe it for a minute. He’s been in government before. The first dip in the polls and JB’ll want someone able to gut and bully hacks and ministers, however much he’s pretending he likes caring and sharing now.

Terri nods breathlessly. ‘This is your office, Minister.’ (Briefly, she wonders how many more times she’ll have to call him Minister before he asks her to use his name instead.) ‘We can change anything, within reason. Sorry it’s a bit small. There’s a list beside the phone of all the internal numbers and extensions for the main departments and so on.’

‘Excellent, thank you, Terri.’ Mannion settles himself in a chair while Phil paces round the perimeter. 

Through the frosted glass, Mannion can see Emma chatting to the computer geeks, having identified them as some of the most crucial support staff. She thinks she recognises one of them from one of Affers’s gaming evenings, though it’s hard to tell. Messy hair, non-designer stubble and geek glasses tend to look interchangeable after a while. Usually she can identify them by the slogans on their t-shirts, but even IT specialists change those at least every few days. 

Mannion snaps his focus back to the room, having made a mental note to keep an eye on Emma. Too competent by half, that one. ‘Thank you, Terri,’ he says again, more firmly.

‘I’ll just leave you to settle in, shall I?’ Terri hovers in the doorway. Phil’s starting to think fondly about the usefulness of cattle prods.

‘Yes, I can always call if I need anything. Perhaps later today you can brief Emma about the main challenges facing the department, as you see them. And any ongoing projects and so on.’

Phil sneaks a look to see if Mannion finds it as amusing as he does when Terri’s face falls and settles into a surly frown. There’s a tiny quirk in the corner of his mouth that suggests he does. 

‘Of course.’ Terri advances half a step out the door. ‘ Will you want coffee? We received your note about the need for proper coffee, and we have everything ready.’

Mannion breaks into a smile. ‘That would be  lovely , Terri. It’s always reassuring to find people are keeping up with this sort of thing. Means you can trust them on larger issues. Coffee would be lovely.’

‘Robyn’ll bring it in a moment, then,’ Terri says acidly. She’s infatuated but she’s not  stupid . If Mannion thinks one smile will compensate for fobbing her off with briefing  Emma and then have her delivering coffee he’s in for a disappointment. ‘And I’ll arrange a time to brief Emma.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Mannion breathes as the door shuts behind her. ‘That’s going to be hard work.’

‘She is meant to be quite competent, as communications officers go.’ Phil muses. ‘And she’ll do what you say - no personal ambition to screw things up. As long as gets over the fact you’re not going to shag her, we’ll be fine.’

Mannion shudders. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘It’s sweet how she dressed up specially for you, though. It’s like the orcs discovered drag.’

‘I haven’t seen makeup like that since Jemima climbed on a stool and raided her mother’s bathroom cabinet.’

Phil laughs rather more than the joke merits. ‘Good one, Minister.’

‘Oh, fuck along, Phil. And send Emma in.’

‘Good move getting Terri the Troll to talk to her.’

Mannion smirks benevolently. ‘A spot of genuine political wisdom for you, young Phil: always let the women tear each other apart. Saves you being accused of sexism. And they’re better at it.’

‘Like Eowyn defeating the Nazgul. Except the Nazgul wasn’t female. Well, conventionally they’re not thought to be female, but no  man could defeat them-’

‘Oh do fuck off, Phil.’

\--

‘Going well is it?’ Robyn observed. ‘Why do I have to make the coffee? I thought you’d want to put on a maid’s outfit and flounce in.’ She flutes her voice up a tone and flutters her eyelashes. ‘Oh, Minister! I’ve brought your coffee, Minister! And some biscuits, Minister! Bend me over the desk, Minister!’

‘That’s enough, Robyn. Grow up. I’ve already got the Right Hon Ice Bitch and Little Lord Fauntleroy to deal with - that’s quite enough children for one department. And making coffee isn’t my job. I need to finalise my briefing for the handover.’

‘Coffee’s not  my  job, either,’ Robyn mutters as she waits for the kettle to boil. ‘I checked my contract and everything.’

‘Part of your job is Assisting the Department’s Director of Communications with all Aspects of the Role,’ Terri snaps. ‘I am the Director of Communications and one aspect of the role is establishing good relationships with the Minister. Which involves bringing him coffee. So you will  assist me with that  aspect . We can discuss it at your next appraisal if you want.’ She flounces out. 

‘Don’t take out the fact that “Man-yum” doesn’t fancy you on me,’ Robyn mutters to the kettle. She’s still scowling when Emma walks in. ‘Hi, Robyn is it?’

Robyn glowers. Emma reminds her uncannily of the sort of prefect she’d always wanted to strangle with her own school tie: bossy, high-achieving and without even being the sort of goody-goody teacher’s pet who actually  believed in the Honour of the School. No, Robyn identifies her as the sort of ruthless achiever who even fooled the teachers and never made a mistake that could be pinned on her.

‘I’m Emma, one of Peter’s special advisors. I’m sure you’ve seen the other. Phil? Drippy as his stupid hair? Tends to use geek analogies in an attempt to explain his random thought processes.’ 

Robyn smiles reluctantly. She doesn’t mind Phil. She’s worked in government long enough to be able to deal with floppy-haired chinless wonders. ‘‘You used to go out with Olly Reeder.’

Emma wrinkles her nose delicately. ‘Yes. I don’t anymore. Nor, just for the record, am I interested in Phil, whatever he might try to tell you.’

‘You’ll have to fight Terri for the Minister, then,’ Robyn says dryly, and pours boiling water into the cafetiere. Emma glances at her for a moment and then laughs. 

‘He’s already on his third wife, and he’s supplementing whatever he gets from her with two mistresses. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t have the time, the organisational skills, or the  stamina to take on anyone else.’

Robyn slams the cafetiere onto a tray, making the china tea cup rattle in its saucer. ‘You’re being very indiscreet.’

Emma smiles. ‘Well, it’s hardly a secret. And you look the trustworthy type.’ Robyn, despite herself, grins shyly at this. It’s the nearest anyone’s come to calling her competent. Possibly she shouldn’t be too hasty to judge Emma. It’s not her fault she’s posh and ambitious, after all. ‘Shall I give you a hand with the coffee? I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than fetch and carry for us.’ She snatches up a couple of mugs and follows Robyn into the Minister’s office. 

\--

‘Five minutes past five and it’s a deserted wasteland out there,’ Peter Mannion remarks, ushering Phil and Emma into his office. ‘And despite there being no rest for the wicked, I think we can keep this fairly brief today. We’ve got time to find our feet here, though we might have problems later on. JB and Stewart are probably going to decide Social Affairs and Citizenship is the sort of unimportant, touchy-feely sandpit in which our esteemed coalition partners might be allowed to play.’

‘The key,’ Emma says, dropping into one of the chairs opposite the Minister’s desk, ‘is to get the civil servants on our side, so that all channels of communication are open to us and closed to them and so any consultations, focus groups, etc. bring back the right results. That way we can negotiate gracefully and make sure the press only hears about how well we’re working together. And there  are areas of policy overlap. Rolling back the security estate, that sort of idea.’

Phil looks annoyed. ‘So we have to be  nice to them? They’re  hopeless  out there . The blonde one either looks like she’s swallowed a wasp covered in piss, or like she’s about to go psycho and start stabbing people with pens, and Terri Coverley can’t think of anything except getting in Peter’s pants.’

‘Hasn’t your legendary charm worked on them, Phil?’ Mannion leans back happily behind his desk.

Emma can’t conceal her snort. Mannion glares at her. ‘No, but seriously, Minister. You know Phil’s type. Pretty but intellectually-unthreatening bimbos, and blond floppy-haired OEs. Not many of those round here. Except for the Junior Minister, but I’m not sure that’s what JB meant about a full and open partnership. Working together on policy’ll be fine, though - they only want things like turning off a few CCTV cameras-’

‘They’ll want equality stuff too,’ Mannion interjects morosely. ‘Gays visiting primary schools-’

Emma restrains herself from pointing out that plenty of gay people are already visiting primary schools  to pick up their children . There are times when it’s best not to force Peter too far from his comfort zone. She and Phil have only just got him to stop saying ‘poofter’. ‘Equality’s politically sensitive, though,’ she points out sensibly. ‘You have to balance things there, so nothing’ll happen for a while. There are plenty of little things we can repeal in the name of liberty before we have to make any difficult decisions. And they’ll all save money, so JB’ll be pleased. The main thing is for you to be  nice to Terri, Minister.’

‘ Nice to her? If I so much as smile she seems to think I’m propositioning her.You were supposed to sort all of this out in your briefing.’

‘I  did . If you’re too nasty, she’ll hate you. And that’ll make your life very difficult.’

‘And you can’t sack these civil servants,’ Phil remarks dolefully. 

‘I laid the foundations for you- I told her you’d heard about the work she did for Nicola Murray and how much you admired her professionally and hinted at how pleased you were that we was  politically supportive of us. I don’t think it’ll take much for us to persuade her you’re a bit out of her league and she  is married, which I think matters to her.’ There’s a very faint pause while no one points out that that’s never mattered to Mannion. ‘Then she can admire you from afar while you drop her the occasional bit of praise for her  professional successes.’

Mannion looks at  her speculatively. ‘You know sometimes Emma, even I think you’re a bit cynical.’

Emma smiles. ‘Thank you, Minister. If you’d prefer I could say nothing and we’ll just let nature take its course and Terri will alternatively slaver over you and stomp off in high dugeon and refuse to cooperate. Did you know there’s a group of civil servants who call you Peter Man-yum? Terri and her friends. Quite a little cabal of them. I’ll introduce you if you like, though I’m not sure they’re your type.’

‘Fine, fine. Carry on. We’ll do that.’ Mannion gazes round his office. ‘That’ll be all. Stewart’s visiting tomorrow, so once he’s told us what we think we can get on with the actual process of government.’


End file.
